Another Journey for John Glenn’s Ansco Camera

Nearly 50 years ago, John Glenn purchased a camera at a drug store that served as the first astronomical experiment performed by a human in space. That three-orbit voyage for Glenn included two cameras, one the Ansco he purchased and the other a Leica supplied by NASA. The flight not only kicked off decades of orbital experiences for U.S. astronauts, but also science experiments, observations, and thousands of rolls of film and digital files created through hand-held photography. The results of those experiments and the photos taken are what people left on Earth use even today to understand human spaceflight.

Recently, I had the opportunity to accompany the Secretary of the Smithsonian, Wayne Clough, to Congress for his testimony to the House Appropriations subcommittee on Interior and Environment, and Related Agencies. As part of the testimony, I presented John Glenn’s Ansco camera as one example of the artifacts we use at the National Air and Space Museum to talk about the 50th anniversary of the first human spaceflight. I was even given time to relate the full story of this camera to the Subcommittee members, which was a real honor. For me, this is a key artifact in the story I am working on for my PhD dissertation at George Mason University, making the experience invaluable. For the camera, it was one perhaps final journey on top of those three historic orbits in Friendship 7.

 

Ansco Camera

John Glenn's Ansco camera in front of "Friendship 7"

 

As a curator, two things make this camera an interesting artifact to study and interpret for our exhibits and in my dissertation. First, as John Glenn relates the story of this time in his autobiography and elsewhere, NASA had trouble figuring out how an astronaut could use a camera in space. Few cameras on the market in the early 1960s were simple enough to use on Earth to make them easy to use in microgravity. Glenn found this Ansco at a Cocoa Beach drug store where he had stopped after a haircut to grab a few things. The Ansco Autoset (actually a Minolta Hi-Matic, repackaged by the New York-based Ansco Company) had automatic exposure settings, so Glenn would not need to change the f-stops on the camera during an already busy mission plan. To make the camera usable with his bulky astronaut gloves, engineers flipped the camera upside down so they could attach a pistol grip and special buttons to control the shutter and film advance. They even moved the eyepiece to the bottom (now the top) of the camera so Glenn could target the constellation Orion for the spectrographic ultraviolet photography he was to perform. In this case, we see how in the early days of NASA, astronauts developed a very personal role in their missions, and also how innovative and creative solutions became for making what we think of as basic tasks easy to do in space.

The other fascinating part of this artifact’s story is how confused it became over the 50 years since it flew. Little is said by Senator Glenn about the Leica camera he also used in space, which actually captured the standard 35mm images we see in books and newspapers. It was not modified as much, with only a larger eyepiece put on top to make it easier to use with his spacesuit visor down. Yet in newspaper stories, books, magazines, and even our own artifact records at the Museum, it seemed people easily interchanged the cameras for each other in the story of photography on Friendship 7. Curator Michael Neufeld nailed this down once and for all with his essay in our book After Sputnik, when he showed how the Ansco camera has a special prism lens attached for the ultraviolet photography, while the Leica has a standard 50mm lens on it.

 

Leica Camera

Leica camera used by John Glenn on his Mercury flight

 

This experience with the Ansco camera on Capitol Hill was a truly unique day in my career, and I owe a special thanks to Samantha Snell from our Collections Division for managing the safe transport and handling of the camera. Also, to Malcolm Collum, our head conservator, for the fantastically built traveling case, and Derrick Fiedler of our Exhibits Production division for another perfect display stand. I am grateful for the opportunity to share the story of one of our priceless and unique artifacts we are entrusted by the American people to preserve and interpret.

Jennifer Levasseur is a museum specialist in the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum, and is responsible curator for the Museum’s collection of space cameras and early human spaceflight astronaut equipment.

 

Collecting Popular Culture

From April 20 to April 23, curators from the Aeronautics Division and the Space History Division attended the 2011 National Conference of the Popular Culture Association/American Culture Association (PCA/ACA) in San Antonio, Texas. Tom Crouch of the Aeronautics Division organized a session on museum collecting and collectors titled “Collecting the Popular Culture of Flight at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum,” and the participants presented papers on collections that we curate. Tom spoke about the Balloonomania Collection of balloon-related furniture and furnishings; Alex Spencer of the Aeronautics Division talked about the Mother Tusch Collection, which contains many significant personal artifacts of military aviation; Margaret Weitekamp of the Space History Division discussed the O’Harro Collection of space memorabilia and popular culture; and I talked about the Stanley King Collection of Lindbergh memorabilia and popular culture.

 

Balloonomania

This colorful early 19th-century ceramic plate, part of the Museum's Balloonomania Collection, depicts the 1804 ascension in Paris of Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac and Jean-Baptiste Biot in an early scientific investigation of the Earth’s atmosphere.

This PCA/ACA meeting was one of the largest academic conferences I had ever attended, and a far cry from the small, homey gatherings of the organization I went to in the mid to late 1980s in Charleston and St. Louis. The 2011 meeting sessions usually began at 8:00 am and went on until very late in the evening every day, occupied conference rooms in two major San Antonio hotels, and covered a wealth of areas from “Adaptation (Film, TV, Literature & Electronic Gaming)” to “World War I & II.” In between were panels on such things as “Fat Studies,” “Grateful Dead,” the “Vampire in Literature,” and the perhaps more prosaic “Visual Arts in the West.” Our session fell into the “Collecting and Collectibles” area.

PCA began in the early 1970s as a reaction to what was perceived to be the elitism of the American Studies Association in favor of traditional American literature, and its disregard for new forms of expression such as material culture, popular music, movies, and comics. In 1979, the PCA began to partner with the American Culture Association and sponsored the first PCA/ACA Conference at Michigan State University. A number of people were involved in the formation of PCA/ACA, but Professors Ray Browne of Bowling Green State University and Russell Nye of Michigan State were the primary movers and shakers for the idea that popular culture deserved academic recognition as a topic of study. The PCA/ACA now has seven regional organizations, and is affiliated with four international popular culture organizations in Australia/New Zealand, East Asia, Canada, and Europe. Both organizations publish journals: The Journal of Popular Culture and The Journal of American Culture.

In museum circles, popular culture suffered the same fate as it did in academia. It was caught up in the “high culture” versus “low culture” debate, originated by literary critic Dwight Macdonald and others, in which high culture—classical art and literature, classical music, ballet, theater, etc.—was thought to be more worth considering than low culture—popular literature, movies, popular music, comics, etc. At the Smithsonian’s Museum of History and Technology (the predecessor of the Museum of American History), the story is told of how many curators were not in favor of collecting American political memorabilia because they considered it “junk.” I dare say this was true in other Smithsonian museums, including the National Air and Space Museum. Ironically, the Museum had been collecting “popular culture” for years, but calling it something else. In 1974, for example, the Museum accepted a donation from Paramount Pictures of the original Starship Enterprise model from the television program Star Trek. In the 1990s, the Museum did two major popular culture exhibitions, Star Trek (1992), and Star Wars: The Magic of Myth (1997), which were immensely well-liked and full of intellectual content, but looked on somewhat disapprovingly in some quarters of the Museum. But just as academic fashion changes over time, so did museum consideration of popular culture as a worthy topic of collecting, research, and exhibition. Now Margaret Weitekamp holds a curatorial title that indicates she is responsible for collecting social and cultural artifacts; i.e., popular culture.

 

Starship Enterprise Model

This 3.4 meter (11-foot) model of the fictional Starship "Enterprise" from the weekly television series "Star Trek" was donated to the National Air and Space Museum in 1974 by Paramount Pictures. To illustrate how popular culture can often impinge on real life, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) was persuaded by a write-in campaign to change the name of the spaces shuttle full-scale test vehicle on display at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center from "Constitution" to "Enterprise."

Although even the PCA/ACA disputes the definition of the term, preferring to create subject areas of academic interest, I do think there is some agreement that popular culture is influenced by industries that disseminate cultural material, for example, the film, television, and publishing industries, as well as the news media. It could even be described as not merely a cumulative product of those industries, but the result of a continuing interaction between them and the people of the society that consume the products. Popular culture is also a way to approach American consumer culture; i.e., the culture that surrounds American commerce, esp. advertising, marketing, merchandising, and the media, and its influence on American society. But even such definitions do not go far enough in my estimation.

However one wants to define it, there are a number of ways to rationalize collecting popular culture in a museum. In the case of the Stanley King Collection, the objects are a way of understanding the consumer tastes of Americans and to making sense of the idea of celebrity. The King Collection also tells us how dominant cultural images like aviation and personalities like Charles A. Lindbergh were used to sell all manner of goods. Lindbergh endorsed very few products, and those were related directly to aviation. Either he didn’t know or didn’t care that someone was making money from his celebrity. In our era, however, celebrities tend to keep a tight rein on their images or “brand,” and infringement is likely to prompt a lawsuit. Nevertheless, a good deal of popular culture merchandise that is unlicensed and unauthorized manages to find its way to the market place.

 

"Spirit of St. Louis" Toys

Four objects from the Stanley King Collection. Clockwise from bottom left: metal roll toy likeness of the "Spirit of St. Louis" with figure; windup metal toy "Spirit" with a New York-Paris map on wing; glass candy container in the shape of an airplane; puzzle game that depicts the flight paths of Lindbergh and his competitors for the Orteig Prize—Richard Byrd and Clarence Chamberlin.

The O’Harro Collection is somewhat different from the King Collection, even though it too consists of commercially-produced materials. Jules Verne’s De La Terra á la Lune (From the Earth to the Moon) is said to have stirred visionaries of modern rocketry like Tsiolkovski, Oberth, and Goddard. Similarly, space science fiction heroes of the 1930s, represented in the O’Harro Collection by Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, stimulated American youth, and provided a glimpse at how space travel was imagined in the days before we had the technology to explore the Moon and distant planets. For a later era, the popular culture of the Star Trek television series (1966 to 1969) and the Star Wars trilogy (1977, 1980, 1983) indicates that space science fiction capitalized on the public interest in space travel prompted by the advent of the U.S. space program and the 1969 landing on the Moon.

 

Ray Guns

Four toy ray guns from the Museum's space popular culture collection illustrate how varied the colors, shapes, and designs of imagined space toys can be.

The Balloonomania Collection and the Mother Tusch Collection are rather different from the consumer-oriented popular culture of the King and O’Harro collections. The Balloonomania Collection of 18th century furniture and furnishings was in a sense both a popular and preindustrial commercial response to the advent of balloon flight, and the first glimpse of the Earth from above the planet. The Mother Tusch Collection represents the personal crusade of a woman who thought of herself as a mother image to hundreds of military aviators during and after World War I, and of the pilots’ response in giving her personal items in gratitude for her many kindnesses.

 

Mother Tusch

Mary E. “Mother” Tusch is shown here shortly before her collection was sent to Washington in 1947. She is surrounded by the aviation memorabilia that she avidly collected, especially the personal items given to her by the many military pilots who trained at the U.S. School of Military Aeronautics at the University of California at Berkeley campus during WWI. These objects, now in the Museum's collection, were meant to show the aviators’ gratitude for her maternal concern for them, hence the name “Mother” Tusch.

Further historical investigation of commercially-produced popular culture is necessary before we have a complete picture. Some questions to consider: who are the manufacturers of these products? Is there a relationship between the poplar objects of aviation and spaceflight and other collectibles that represent a dominant cultural image? Were these items advertised, if so, how were they advertised? What were the conditions of the workers who produced these items? Are these or similar types of materials being manufactured today?

The Museum does not have a collections fund to purchase items like these, which are likely to be found in the hands of collectors. Thus, subsequent acquisition of popular culture objects depends largely on the generosity of people like Michael O’Harro and Stanley King. Both curatorial divisions, however, have clearly-articulated collecting plans that specify what types of popular culture the Museum wishes to collect. The Aeronautics Division, for example, is especially interested in obtaining consumer items such as toys, games, household furnishings, apparel, and other collectibles that relate to aviation, especially for the interwar years, World War II, and the 1950s, and of more recent vintage, toys like action figures of pilots from the Vietnam War era to the present day, dolls or action figures that represent women in aviation, and electronic media like arcade games and flight simulation games for personal computers. The Space History Division is especially interested in acquiring scarce or rare items from early space science fiction, toys, games, lunch boxes, and other collectibles, electronic media like arcade games, computer games, and console games, and cultural objects from the early Project Mercury/Gemini/Apollo eras.

Dominick A. Pisano is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum

 

An Easter Airlift

Easter Photo

Photograph by Rudy Arnold - Image XRA-0856

Why is the smiling Pan American Airways flight attendant holding a box of baby chicks, and why have the chicks been dyed in festive colors? Presumably, it was for an Easter-themed photo shoot, but it’s a shame that we don’t know the story behind this Rudy Arnold photograph from the 1950s. Still, It’s a nice image from the Museum’s Archives Division’s Rudy Arnold Collection, and who doesn’t like baby chick shots at this time of year? We’ve posted examples from the Arnold Collection before; always pleased to have an excuse to post another.

Allan Janus is a museum specialist in the Archives Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

Airplanes and Overpasses

As we begin to take occupancy of our new home in the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center’s new wing, and begin the process of outfitting the Mary Baker Engen Restoration Hangar, we are faced with the daunting task of moving all of our equipment into the new spaces and setting up an environment which will be favorable to the preservation and restoration of our priceless artifacts for decades to come. This is likely to be a lengthy process but we have begun to deliver selected artifacts so that when the viewing area becomes accessible, visitors will be able to see examples of our gems in the rough.

Each of these aircraft has been in storage at the Paul E. Garber Facility in Suitland, Maryland for years, where the Museum’s restoration work had taken place for decades.  These aircraft are seldom seen by the public, and are all in need of preservation or restoration treatments.

By far, the largest of these chosen artifacts is the Sikorsky S-43 / JRS-1 (U.S. Navy version) flying boat.  It is actually a twin-engine amphibian design, which has an overall length of more than 51 feet, a wingspan of 86 feet, and weighs over six tons.  The airplane is constructed mostly of aluminum along with extensive use of fabric coverings on the control and lifting surfaces, and powered by a pair of Pratt & Whitney radial engines. This particular airplane has historic significance in that it was stationed in Hawaii on Dec. 7th, 1941, and survived the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Sikorsky

Sikorsky JRS-1 in storage at the Paul E. Garber Facility.

Once assigned to the team tasked with relocating this large object, I began, as I usually do, by researching the project.  This meant a visit to the National Air and Space Museum Archives which are also currently located at the Garber Facility, but will be moving to the Udvar-Hazy Center.   The helpful staff was able to find the material I needed in the form of a manufacturer’s maintenance manual.  The document contains a wealth of information and addresses the transport, assembly, and rigging of the airplane.  Having this important information available for a 73-year-old airplane that was produced in relatively small numbers, and of which there are only a few left in existence, is an amazing testament to our Archives Division.

After reading through the relevant information, we came to realize that, by design, the large flying boat would separate into manageable sub-sections, as the airplanes were often crated when they left the factory to be assembled upon reaching their final destination.  This would prove invaluable for transport of the pieces over the D.C. beltway to Chantilly, Virginia.  While looking at the fully assembled airplane in a storage building at the Garber Facility, we concluded that although the disassembly, move, and reassembly would be rather involved, it should be a fairly straight-forward process. However, by virtue of the Sikorsky’s sheer size and weight, this would not be an easy job.

Sikorsky Wing

Collections staff remove the Sikorsky JRS-1 wing center section in preparation for the move from the Museum's Paul E. Garber Facility to the Mary Baker Engen Restoration Hangar at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center.

Prior to beginning the actual disassembly process, several preliminary steps had to be taken.  We removed all of the access panels which covered the assembly hardware and applied penetrating lubricant to all the bolts.  This would help loosen potentially stuck or corroded mounting bolts.  All of the support struts and bracing wires were tagged as to their relative location on the airplane to help during the reassembly process.  Several rigging slings were fabricated in accordance with the manufacturer’s guidelines for the purpose of lifting the large sections.  We bagged and tagged all loose mounting hardware to ensure nothing got misplaced along the way.

During the removal of the propellers from the engines we encountered a problem that resulted in a unique solution.  Once the exact Hamilton-Standard propeller model had been identified, I found that we did not have the proper tool needed to remove it. A co-worker suggested I look in a Japanese engine and propeller tool kit that we had in the collection.  As it turns out, the American-made Hamilton-Standard propellers had been produced under license in Japan prior to World War II, so the Japanese tool kit contained the exact tool needed to do the job.

In order to avoid a delay in fabricating welded stands to support the engines once removed, we decided to take a different approach.  Rather than remove the engines from their mounting rings, we instead pulled the engine mounts from the nacelles at the front of the wing.  This allowed us to rotate each engine vertically and utilize the four-point mount itself as a stand.  Although this required more work to disconnect the various components, it saved time in the schedule.

Sikorsky Engine

Collections staff rotate the Sikorsky JRS-1 engine vertically so the four-point mount can be used as a stand.

The rest of the disassembly work proceeded on schedule, and then the relocation of the aircraft to our new home near Dulles airport began.  Five tractor trailer loads were required to transport all of the various sub-assemblies.  The largest section was the one-piece hull, which exceeded “normal” dimensional limits and meant that requisite permits had to be obtained through both the Maryland State Highway Administration and the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles for transport of a “wide load” on our open trailer.  The route chosen for transport was also carefully evaluated to avoid “choke points” such as low overpasses, beltway construction, and “Jersey” barriers.

Sikorsky Hull

Sikorsky JRS-1 hull is secured to transport trailer

Sikorsky

Collections staff tow the Sikorsky JRS-1 fuselage down I-495.

Through much planning and coordination on the part of the team, the move went smoothly and the big Sikorsky now awaits its public debut alongside the other artifacts in the Mary Baker Engen Restoration Hanger.

Anthony Carp is a Museum Specialist in the Collections Division at the National Air and Space Museum.

A Laptop in Space

The announcement last year that Bill Moggridge was selected to be the new head of the Smithsonian’s Cooper-Hewitt Museum in New York gave me pause. In my daily work I tend to stay on a narrow path of aerospace-related topics, but that name sounded familiar.

Bill Moggridge

Bill Moggridge, director of the Smithsonian's Cooper Hewitt Museum in New York.

A glance at my bookshelf gave me the answer: before joining the Cooper-Hewitt, Moggridge was a co-founder of the international design firm IDEO, and while there he played a crucial role in the design of the world’s first laptop computer: the GRiD Compass, first marketed in 1982. (The unusual capitalization of “GRiD” was a trademark of the company that developed it.)  I knew about the Compass because that device was also the first laptop flown in space. According to a press release from GRiD Systems, Inc., “The GRiD Compass was first used on the Space Shuttle mission launched from Kennedy Space Center on November 28, 1983. The computer, code-named SPOC (Shuttle Portable On-Board Computer) by NASA was slightly modified for operation in a weightless environment…” (Neither this press release nor any from NASA notes the similarity between the acronym and the better-known character from the television series Star Trek.)

GRiD Compass

GRiD "Compass" Laptop

The National Air and Space Museum has several GRiD compass computers in its collections, including one that has flown on two Shuttle flights, STS-35 and STS-36. The modifications were minor: the attachment of pieces of Velcro to fasten it to various places on the flight deck, a modification of the power cord to plug into the Shuttle’s power supply, and the addition of a small fan to compensate for the lack of convective cooling in zero-G. A lot of custom work went into the development of specialized software, however: to aid Shuttle astronauts in managing their mission and assisting with navigation, and as a back-up to prepare the vehicle for return to Earth.  As with every item carried on the Shuttle, the software had to be rigorously tested before it was loaded onto the computer.

Compass in Space

STS-46 Mission Specialist Franklin R. Chang-Diaz works with GRiD "Compass" laptop on the middeck of Atlantis, Orbiter Vehicle 104.

To return to its design: the GRiD pioneered the so-called “clamshell” case for laptops, but it also had several unique qualities. Its case was made of rugged magnesium, not plastic. It had no rotating disk, which might have caused reliability problems; but rather a “bubble” memory that had no moving parts. And it used a custom, bright orange “electro-luminescent display, visible in the brightest sunlight. It is a beautiful machine to hold, and a testament to Moggridge’s, and GRiD Systems’ attention to detail. Laptop computers are nothing special today—they seem to be giving way to smaller devices including smart phones—but this one is special.

Paul Ceruzzi is chair of the Division of Space History at the National Air and Space Museum.